


merr chris

by ajkal2



Category: Homestuck, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crossover, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, i love how thats a tag, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9022144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajkal2/pseuds/ajkal2





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironically-fabulous.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ironically-fabulous.tumblr.com).



Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re just a dime-a-dozen figure skater from Texas. Except that, y’know, Texas isn’t exactly known for figure-skating, or for being tolerant. So you moved to Japan instead. Because fuck Texas, that’s why.

Yeah.

So, now you live in Japan.  When you’re not flying all over the place doing competitions. And it’s cool. Just like you. That’s what you’re doing ay-tee-em, prepping for your slot in the Grand Prix Final. You’ve got ya headphones in, you’re doin’ a review of how you got here, and you are not nervous. Nope. No nerves here, no siree, not even a tiny bit of nerve on the floor nope nothing.

You bop your head to the rap tunez you got booming in your ears, trying to think of nothing but the beat and the words. The people, the roaring crowd above you, they all fade out, and your world is just the bass drop and the words you’re mouthing as the track flows through you.

Will your Bro watch, at home?

Argh, no, beats and rhythms and words and go over your routine, the sweeps of arms and that bone-deep impact when you hit the ice after a perfect jump, flowing and smooth like the words and don’t think about him, don’t don’t don’t.

You know he wouldn’t be watching anyway. Pansy sports competitions were never his thing.

You lean your head back against the wall. Why are you even doing this? You should’ve gone into, like, professional strifing, or rapping, or something else benefiting of a Strider. But figure skating has always called to you like some shitty ex. Since you first saw Vantas gliding across the ice, your heart was set. On skating. Not on Vantas. (ok a little on vantas but you get enough shit about your career without being gay on top so your just gonna internalise that real quick k?)

Your coach shakes your shoulder, giving you her shark-grin.

Time to shine. Literally, in this costume. Why do figure skaters have to bedazzle everything? Bro would-NOPE, and the crowd is roaring, white noise in your ears as you walk out into the main theatre.

\----------------------------

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You’re a five-time fucking world champion figure skater. You should not have to deal with _childcare._ It is beneath you in so many ways, you don’t even know where to start. And yet, you have a small green girl hanging off your neck.

She’s the junior champion, but she is also more than five years younger than you and so she is a tiny child baby. And you need to fucking focus if you wanna beat all these shits and claim that medal again.

“Kaaarkaaat!!!! Good luck! I’m sure you’ll be _puurrrrrrr_ fect out there, have fun!” she yells right into your ear god Nepeta why. You detach her somehow and stalk to the edge of the rink to watch the guy before you.

What kind of a douchebag wears sunglasses whilst doing an athletic fucking sport? How are they even staying on his face? You run the names through your memory, and hit on Dave Strider. American, urgh. His costume is a sparkling bright red mock suit. It’s loud and brash and makes you hate him even more.

He turns into a spread eagle, facing your side of the rink before leaping into a triple-quad combination. The jump is impressive, if youre a brain-dead audience member. You frown, and watch his face-yeah, he’s not emoting at all. His face is blank below those glinting glasses, but… his movements and posture somehow portray all the emotion his face hides.

What the fuck.

It’s pretty effective as a technique, makes him stand out, but how the taintchafing hell is he doing it? Your coach has shouted at you to stop scowling as you skate so many times, you know how hard the perfect control he has is to master. His skates dig into the ice, building speed for a quad, and you know from the moment he takes off he’s not going to land it.

Overrotation, you fucking called it, down and up like a jack-in-the-box, and he’s back to the step sequence. He segues into a combination spin as the music creshendos. You find yourself leaning forward, drawn to his perfect posture. The music fades away as his spin slows. He stands prone, chest heaving, as applause rolls from the stands out onto the ice.

There’s a furrow between his eyebrows, the first emotion you’ve seen on his face since his skate began.

What are his coaches thinking, giving him a routine like that? You were watching, even when he fell he didn’t react with his face. Perfect control like that is… rare, to say the least. And his coach isn’t even using it! You can _see_ it, a figure gliding in more doll-like ways, routines where the lack of emotion would boost his score instead of cutting it.

Your coach shakes your shoulder, gesturing towards the ice impatiently. Yeah yeah, you got it, time to win another gold for the motherland. Your last one, because this year you’re getting out, becoming a director like you’ve always wanted. The next rom-com that comes out will have your name below it’s title.

But before that, it’s time to dance.

\----------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you came last. The banquet is full of suits and glamour and you hate it. You lean against the wall by the food.

_Idiot, no-good stupid kid can’t even block properly fuckin’ hell_

And yay, Inner Voice Of Bro narrating your life, just what you need right now. You reach blindly for another glass of champagne, downing it and doing your best to turn people away from you with your mind.

Urgh.

_Stop goddamn moaning, jeez, I’m doing you a favour here, get up ya lousy dickwipe_

You roll your eyes, grabbing another drink. You don’t even care what it tastes like (bubbles, yay) as long as the alcohol gets into your bloodstream.

Stupid Bro. You know that’s why you failed, you couldn’t stop thinking abouot him watching and messes up an early jump and then it went from bad to worse god you’re a _fuckin’ failure._

 You drink another glass.

\----------------------------

Your name is Karkat Vantas and what in the name of hell has happened to the banquet.

You just went to make sure Nepeta went to bed properly, and in ten minutes the party has gone from being the usual drop dead boring snacks and posh people standing about to… is that-no, what in shitstained hard boiled hell-Is that a _stripper pole?_

Oh god, the guy who came in second (Jonas? Jake? Something with a J, blue tie) is twirling around it in practically nothing. And the tie.

What the fuck.

And in the centre of all the madness is none other than Dave Fucking Strider. J-something is stepping off the pole, and he’s stepping up, smirking at the circle of assorted rich people who are- cheering him on. Oh god.

Terezi notices you, and bounds up, grinning like a shark.  She’s got those ring glowstick things hooked around her wrists and neck. Where did she get the glowsticks it’s not even dark you have wandered into an alternate universe of chaos and stripping-

“Karkles!! Nice to see you’ve decided to join the party. Dave’s good, isn’t he?” You glimpse skin and shades and red silk between your fingers, and resolve that this is a nightmare (or wet dream, those muscles…NOPE it’s a NIGHTMARE you are NOT ATTRACTED TO a guy who WEARS SUNGLASSES INDOORS)

You squeak wordlessly to Terezi, and she cackles, pressing a bottle of something into your hand. You down it, then choke and reach as the taste hits you-Past Karkat you idiot never eat or drink anything Terezi gives you that woman has no taste buds and a wicked sense of humour.

The crowd is cheering, and now both blue dude and Dave are doing acrobatic fucking pirouettes around the pole.

You officially give up.

\-----------------------------

Your name is Daaaayyyve Strider and you are having a BALL.

waitasecond this aint a ball, it’s a… banquet! Banquet!!! You WON the dance off, you totally won that, and now you are in a room with cheering people and your tie around your head (FSAHION) and looooook its Karkat Vantas you like him. Yes. He is pretty on the dance ice.

You go up to him and tell him that, and he frowns at you for some reason and you try to push his face into a smile (everyone should SMILE it’s a PAAAARTY) and when he swears at you and pushes you away youjust hug him instead.

He is nice and warm and smells nice and you tell him so that he will be happy.

He sighs and pulls your arm around his shoulders and pulls you towards the door-noo you want to staaaayyy (AYYYYYY) but he keeps tugging and says that future you will thank him.

You go with him.

\----------------------------

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have an extremely drunk Dave Strider on your shoulder. He keeps giggling and you don’t know which room is his and so you are wandering the halls of the hotel while he tries to remember, despairing at your life.

You hate the universe for existing and forcing you to exist in it and most of all you hate Past Karkat for everything that asshole has ever done.

Dave Strider suddenly bolts upright and starts patting at his pockets, mumbling about his key. He produces it eventually, with a flourish. Sure enough, there’s a room number on the key, and you squint at it before hauling him back to the lifts.

“Hey, hey Karkat, am I good on the ice? Do… do I look pretty? You always look so pretty…” he slurs, his head thumping onto your shoulder and partly against your neck.

“Yes, you idiot, you’re a good skater. You’re at the Grand Fucking Prix Final, you better be good,” you snarl, shifting him so his arm is around your shoulder

He looks up at you, frowning. At this angle you can see the light glinting off his eyes. You wonder what colour they are.

“Nah, yoou’re just bein’ nice. Becus I’m drunk and won’t remember it in the morning.” He mutters, hair falling across his face.

You sigh. “Listen up Strider.” The lift door opens and the two of you stagger out. “You are a good skater. I was watching you, your step sequences and the emotions you portray are fantastic. You could really go far, could win this thing if you had the right coach.”

He processes, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you be my coach?”

You fumble your way to a stop in the middle of the corridor, in front of his room.

“What?”

“Yeah, Karkat! You should be my coach, you’re the _bestest!”_

“…I’m getting out of ice-skating, I’m not a coach.”

“Teach me!”

“Go to sleep, you drunken idiot.”

The key rattles in the lock, and you slap the lights on before levering Dave onto the bed. 

He looks stupid, splayed out like a starfish. You draw the curtains and turn the lights back off, closing the door gently.

You, a coach. What an idea. That would never happen.

You think again of Dave on the ice, of the potential just waiting to be tapped…

You, a coach. Well, maybe.

You head back to your room, an almost soft smile flickering across your face.


End file.
